


Forbidden Fruit

by maddierose



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, POV First Person, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:37:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddierose/pseuds/maddierose
Summary: "Every death you see haunts you. It plagues your dreams. You are never safe from what you've done in that arena, and to be honest, I don't think you should be. It would be way too easy to forget the people you've killed, the lives you've destroyed. I was a Career, and some of the things I did during those Games were the actions of a monster."
Relationships: Gloss (Hunger Games)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. The Asking Price

**Warnings: none**

Gloss’s POV

I won the 68th Hunger Games when I was sixteen. There, I said it. Normally that’s the sort of thing that merits handshakes and pats on the back. It’s like…being a Victor should be a celebration or something. But I’ve been a Victor for six years now, and I’m telling you, it doesn’t get any easier. Sure, there’s the fame, that everyone in Panem knows your face. But it’s an empty fame considering that you had to give up your humanity to achieve it.

I didn’t volunteer because I wanted the fame and glory. Well, actually, that’s a lie. I wanted it, but that wasn’t the main reason. The main reason was because of Cashmere. Three years older than me, she’d won the 67th Hunger Games the year before. That was back when I was naïve and I thought the Victors were treated like superstars. And they are…most of the time. But there are always things you have to do to stay like that, prices you have to pay. When I found out the price Cashmere was paying, I didn’t want her to be alone anymore.

It was scary to see how much my sister had changed, when she returned from the 67th Hunger Games. Cashmere had been confident to the point of near arrogance, but after all that she had experienced she seemed…well, no less confident really, but she was withdrawn. Introverted. She wasn’t the same sister I’d grown up with. That scared me, the thought that the real Cashmere died in the arena along with the other twenty-three tributes.

She was horrified when I volunteered. She knew that she would have to mentor me and for some time, all she could do was berate me for how stupid I had been. I didn’t care though. I was filled with a steely determination: I would win the 68th Hunger Games, no matter what. My district partner was a girl a year younger than me, Honey. I still remember watching District 6 cut her open in the final eight.

It’s the sort of thing you don’t forget. Every death you see haunts you. It plagues your dreams. You are never safe from what you’ve done in that arena, and to be honest, I don’t think you should be. It would be way too easy to forget the people you’ve killed, the lives you’ve destroyed. I don’t see myself as a human anymore. I was a Career, and some of the things I did during those Games were the actions of a monster.

The 69th Hunger Games were no better. It was like I was reliving my own Games, watching as tributes died once again. Thank God I had Cashmere or I don’t think I would have survived. It’s been like that these past few years – mentoring tributes, basically shaping them up and them sending them in to their deaths. Sometimes, they’re kids you vaguely know. It doesn’t make it any better or worse seeing them die if you know them. After a while, you just become numb to the whole thing, because feeling hurts too much.

Cashmere told me once that I should never fall in love. I sneered at that. How could a Victor ever fall in love, when they had already lost so much? The prospect was almost amusing. For some time I wondered why she was warning me about this. Cashmere herself had long ago lost the ability to love when she had been forced to serve herself to greedy Capitol men. The only person she loved anymore was me.

There would be a day when I would remember Cashmere’s words, when I would think on them carefully. Love…it makes people weak. It makes them do stupid things. The prospect of it made me sick. That was before everything changed.

* * *

“Gloss! Get up.”

I sit bolt upright at my sister’s sharp voice, tossing around to free myself from the prison of my cotton sheets. That happens sometimes, when my nightmares are extreme. I toss and turn and tie myself into knots in the bedclothes. Once I’ve unwound myself from the bedclothes, I stagger to my feet, raking a hand through my blond hair.

Cashmere is leaning in the doorframe watching me. By the wry look about her face and the sympathetic light in her eyes, she knows that last night was especially difficult for me. Both of us know what today is, what it means. The nightmares of the past few years are about to repeat themselves.

“Reaping day.” Cashmere voices what I already knew. “We need to be down in the square in half an hour. Apparently they’ve loaded a new escort on us.”

I snort. Escorts…why do we really need them? They’re just stuck-up Capitolians who are perhaps curious about the districts, who haven’t had to work a hard job a day in their lives. They’re beyond contempt. I’ve never liked or trusted them. Cashmere’s the one who’s always nice to them. Most of the rest of the Victors can’t be bothered putting in the effort.

The smell of eggs and bacon prompts me to go downstairs. Cashmere never used to cook before the Games, but as Victors who don’t have to work, sometimes we need to have something to stop us from going completely crazy. Some of the other district’s Victors are just…weird. We talk to them a bit, although most of the time we keep to ourselves. Still, no harm in getting friendly with the other Career Victors, especially when they might unintentionally give away tactics.

Cashmere saunters downstairs in a deep blue dress that brings out her eyes. She’s always been beautiful, my sister. She’s the sort of girl that the guys used to go after, only now they’re intimidated by her fame as a Victor. If I was older than her, I could be the sort of overprotective brother who’d beat them away with a stick.

I wonder how long this year’s tributes will last. In the 73rd Hunger Games last year, the girl got herself decapitated in the bloodbath, and the boy died of the cold during the night only a few days later. Needless to say, the Games weren’t very eventful for District 1, but I feel like it’s better when it’s over quickly. It’s like ripping off a bandaid rather than working it off slowly.

District 1 has a big pool of Victors, a lot like other Career districts such as District 2. The difference is that while I hear District 2 selects Victors from their variety, District 1 has a policy of always sending their latest two Victors to be the mentors for the tributes. It shouldn’t really be surprising that Cashmere and I are the latest two. It’s why I’m rather selfishly hoping that someday soon, another District 1 tribute will win, so at least Cashmere can have some breathing space.

“Gloss?” Cashmere glances across at me and I realize that, once again, I’ve been caught up in my train of thought. My sister’s been growing increasingly worried about the fact that I just seem to zone out sometimes. She says it’s like I’m living on another planet now. Sometimes I wish I was.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mutter, getting up and putting my plate in the sink before trudging upstairs. I check the clock. Twenty minutes…twenty minutes to prepare for an event that will ruin the lives of two families in District 1 irrevocably.

* * *

Storm’s POV

The train from the Capitol to District 1 only takes a couple of hours, but trust me to catch the late one in. As the train pulls into the station, I start making some frantic last-minute checks in the mirror. The last thing this district needs is another colourful, super-bubbly escort who just reminds them of the Capitol. That’s why I had all the fire-engine red rinsed from my naturally mouse-brown hair, took out the green contacts I’d been wearing so my eyes were their normal hazel.

I want District 1 to see me as another person, someone they can relate to. Not that it’s really going to happen. They hate us, the people from the district. I can see why. I mean, I’ve never done anything to the people of District 1 personally, but they’re going to treat me with contempt. It’s just the way things go.

“Storm!” There’s an insistent hammering on my door. I groan and pop another aspirin. I’m really going to need it at the rate things are going. The press team who came with me are annoying the crap out of me. “We’ve reached the station, get your stuff.”

Which means I’m up at the podium in fifteen minutes. Shit. I gather my things as fast as I can, smoothing down my black pencil skirt. First up is meeting the Victors, which should be interesting. I’m young for this job, so I’m told. Freshly turned twenty and I’ve been thrown into the deep end. Before I was just another face in the media gig, then the former escort for District 1 retirees and bam, I’m right in the thick of it.

I clack onto the platform in three-inch black heels, still valiantly attempting to adjust my skirt. I went for the businesswoman look, I think to try and disguise how young I am. I gnaw at my lip, before stopping when I realize I’m only going to get red lipstick on my teeth by doing it. The rest of the press team file off the train, assembling cameras and microphones as they go.

The Mayor of District 1 greets me enthusiastically. He’s a puffed-up round ball of a man who constantly wipes his sweaty hands on his suit pants. I get the feeling that he doesn’t like me, although he doesn’t even know me yet. It’s all just a show, a small segment of the big show we put on the Capitol: the Hunger Games. He keeps calling me Sky instead of Storm, but I let it slide.

“This way, Sky.” The Mayor leads me into the Justice Building to meet the Victors I’m going to be working with. The place is full of appetizers and small glasses of wine red as blood. I’m immediately nervous when I notice the Victors. Both of them are so…okay, it sounds weird, but _beautiful._ They’re quite clearly brother and sister.

The sister is the older one. She offers me a saccharine smile, but I can see that it doesn’t reach her eyes. Hair the colour of bright gold reaches her waist and her eyes are a deep sapphire blue. I’m immediately jealous of her beauty. She’s perhaps in her mid-twenties, and she walks over to me and extends a hand.

“You must be the new escort. I’m Cashmere Delucan.”

I shake her hand firmly. “Storm Asterbury.”

The young man ignores me. He’s perhaps only a little older than me, with striking good looks like his sister. Unlike Cashmere, however, there’s a scowl across his face, and I can see the disdain in his eyes when he looks at me. He catches me looking and I immediately drop my gaze, flushing. He already hates me.

“That’s my brother, Gloss,” Cashmere heaves a sigh. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s not exactly very social.”

I remember Cashmere and Gloss’s Games. Cashmere was lethal, although at first underestimated because of her beauty. She proved that she was capable of killing without remorse. Gloss displayed a similar ruthlessness during his Games, and although they seemed harmless enough now, I knew better than to underestimate them.

Ever since I’d been a little girl, I’d hated the Games. Not because I’d thought them wrong, not then. I had always been weak-stomached, and the sight of blood and death upset me. I would often have nightmares even though the horrors of the Games were not my burdens to bear. I was just a little Capitol girl. It was the districts who were supposed to suffer, not me.

The Mayor ushers us outside into the square before I’ve even had the chance to eye off the appetizers. Gloss and Cashmere saunter across to take their allocated seats, but as the escort, it’s my job to go up the microphone and officially get the reaping started. They’ll all hate me, all the teenagers of age in District 1. It’s because I’m the one picking their names out, like some sort of god choosing who lives and who dies.

I swallow and switch the microphone on, watching as the last kids file into their respective sections. I pity them. I’ve never known the fear of having to stand there, scared for my life, scared for someone I know and care about. I’ve always been sheltered, I know that. So why should it be me to pick out who’s sentenced to the Hunger Games?

“Welcome.” My voice is loud and confident, although inside I’m shrivelling up at the thought of addressing so many people – but this isn’t about me and my insecurities. Two kids are going to _die_ from this district, and already I’m focusing on my own fears. I’m selfish. Most Capitolians are. “My name’s Storm Asterbury, and I’m the new escort for District 1.”

I’m met with silence. I suppose it’s better having a Career district rather than one of the lower ones. The kids here are actually enthusiastic about the Hunger Games. It’s about honour and glory for them. How little they know. I immediately distance myself. I don’t know any of these kids. I suppose that’s another aspect of my weak heart coming through. Good thing I was never in a district. I never would have made it as a tribute.  
They listen in boredom, fidgeting as I push through the history of Panem, the Dark Days, how the Hunger Games came about. They don’t want to hear about it, and I don’t blame them. No one wants to be reminded of their failure. Afterwards, I paste a plastic smile across my features as I announce the drawing of tributes. Of course, I’ve been informed that in District 1, I won’t have to actually draw names. There are volunteers left, right and centre. It sends shivers down my spine to know how eager some of these kids are.

“I volunteer.” It’s a girl of around seventeen, with silvery blonde hair. She steps out, causing a few other girls to don disappointed expressions. She tosses back her hair as she approaches the stage, and I can see that this girl has a bright confidence to her. She’ll need more than confidence, though. “I’m Glimmer.”

I haven’t even opened my mouth to announce the boy tribute when a brown-haired boy from the eighteen-year-old section moves forward. He’s tall, easily over six feet, and like the girl, has a cocky smirk across his face. That’s the problem with Career districts, that’s their downfall, they’re too full of themselves to see anyone else as a viable threat.

“Marvel,” the boy says.

I force a smile and turn back to the microphone. “District 1, I give you your tributes!”

As applause thunders through the square, I turn and glance towards the Victors. Perhaps they’ll be impressed by Marvel and Glimmer, perhaps they won’t really care. But all I see is the hatred in Gloss’s eyes…and it’s directed at me.


	2. Ghost Train

**Warnings: physical assault**

Gloss’s POV

I don’t like this year’s escort. In fact, I like her even less than last year’s escort. Most of them are pretty open about what they are, looking down their noses like the snotty Capitolians they are. This one’s different. She’s young for starters, younger than me. Maybe twenty. Her attitude is what annoys me the most though. Her name’s Storm or something stupid like that, and she acts as though she’s a wide-eyed innocent, like she doesn’t know what the Hunger Games are.

The tributes this year are arrogant, way too sure of themselves. I guess I can’t exactly blame them – wasn’t I just the same, not that long ago? I sit in a chair and swill my glass of wine, watching as Marvel attempts to flirt with a clearly uninterested Glimmer. Cashmere is over making herself a cocktail. Storm is sitting stiffly in her chair, like the _proper_ young Capitolian she was raised to be, no doubt. She takes small, polite sips of her wine and avoids eye contact.

“So, Sky...” I know it’s not really her name, but I also know that it irritates her. It would be amusing, I suppose, to get under her skin. After all, she’s not a danger like another Victor. What could little miss Storm Asterbury actually do if I got on her nerves?

She glances up from her glass. “Storm.”

“Storm.” My smile’s mocking, probably even to her eyes. “Right. What is it exactly that you do in the Capitol? Of course, some of the year you’re occupied with the Hunger Games, but what about otherwise?”

“I...” She looks puzzled, as though she’s not quite sure to respond to such a direct question. Stupid Capitolians, she’s probably used to fancy wordplay and dancing around the topic. “Visit my mother when I can, I suppose. Well...sometimes. We...we don’t get along.”

It seems strange to think that Capitolians actually have families, to think of them as anything but monsters. I glance across at Storm. She’s trying hard to appeal to us, her hair a clearly natural mouse-brown and her eyes a fairly normal hazel. I think I’d prefer crazy colours and absurd behaviour to this clean-cut, professional-looking little try-hard.

“Why are you telling me about your family?” I lean back in my chair, raising my eyebrows. “Do you actually think I care about them? I asked what you do, not about your mother.”

She blinks, not exactly hurt but a little surprised at my blunt response. Please, like I care. What is Storm going to do, cry if I hurt her feelings? Why does she even have the right to be offended? She’s the one who’s pretending to be something she’s not. If she’s from the Capitol, she might damn well act like it.

“Gloss, stop it,” Cashmere snaps, sinking into a chair across from me with an electric pink cocktail, which she takes a sip of, before turning her attention upon Storm. “I apologize for my brother. He’s not exactly the friendliest of people.”

“Whatever,” I reply, my mood turning sour. Of course, that’s just Cashmere. She plays polite with the Capitolians, which is why she never has problems with any of them. I suppose it’s probably stuck with her because of having to play the falsely sweet card with the men she has to sleep with. It’s disgusting. I can’t help but feel like Cashmere is taking Storm’s side.

I glance across at the tributes. They’re not allowed to drink, so instead they seem pretty bored with watching everything going on around them. I get up off the chair I’m sitting in and move so I’m leaning against the table next to them. That gets their attention. Both teenagers fall silent, watching me warily.

“What?” I demand of them, a little annoyed. Marvel remains silent, but continues to watch me. Glimmer is bolder, tilting her head to the side as she watches me. Her eyes are a bright green that shine brightly as she observes me.

“How did you win your Games?”

She seems to be a louder, more outspoken tribute than her district partner. Marvel continues to watch avidly, but it would seem that Glimmer’s the mouthpiece. Out of the two of them, my bet’s on her lasting a shorter amount of time than Marvel. It’s the quiet ones you really have to watch out for.

“You want to know how I won?” I sit back down in my chair, aware that the teenagers’ eyes remain focused entirely on me.

Cashmere heaves a sigh and rolls her eyes. Anyone would think she’s disinterested, but I know better. She doesn’t want to relive my Games again. She was already on edge enough during the 68th Hunger Games, and she doesn’t like being reminded of all the worry she was put through. I decide that instead of telling these kids how I won, it might actually be more useful telling them how _they_ can win.

“How I won doesn’t matter now.” I wave a dismissive hand. “I slit the throat of the girl from District 6, but this was years ago.”

_“Please.” There are tears spilling down the girl’s face as I press my dagger to her throat. “Please, don’t kill me.”_

_She’s the one who practically rent Honey in two. It’s not the sort of thing you forget easily, watching your district partner’s insides splatter onto the ground. It was messy and it was horrible. It wasn’t how I managed death would be. There was no glory in it, no triumph, not even for District 6._

_It’s just the two of us left now. Surely she doesn’t expect mercy? I wind a hand into her hair and wrench her head back, so that I’m the last thing she sees in the world when I slash her throat. District 6 chokes on her own blood and I let go, staggering back as her cannon goes off._

_I’ve done it, I’ve won..._

“Gloss?” It’s Cashmere, sounding concerned. I snap back into reality and glance across at her. Glimmer whispers something to Marvel, causing him to snicker. These kids have no idea what they’ve volunteered for, no idea of the horrors they’re going to witness. That is, if they live that long.

“Yeah, what?” I don’t like it when she catches me in one of my zoning-out moments. It’s almost like her seeing a weakness, a wound that’s buried deep inside me, still bleeding after six years. I abruptly turn my attention back to Marvel and Glimmer. “You two. You want to win the Hunger Games? The first thing is that you can’t trust anyone, not the other Careers, not even each other.”

“Got it.” Marvel nods, seeming a bit more confident in himself now.

“You have to kill anyone who stands against you, no matter how much they beg you otherwise,” I say, my tone growing firm. This is what I’m passionate about. I don’t have a choice – once you’ve been involved in the Games, it’s something that stays with you for life. You want to see others survive as you did. You get sick of watching kids die year after year, and for what? What cause? Entertainment?

Marvel and Glimmer nod fiercely, but I was once like them. I thought it would be easy to kill, and in essence it is. You drive a dagger through someone’s heart, cut their throat. That’s the easy part. The harder part is getting their blood off your hands and trying to convince yourself you’re still human, but at the same time attempting to push what you’ve done to the back of your mind.

The Capitolian girl is staring across at me with wide hazel eyes, and I flash her a bitterly victorious smile. Perhaps she doesn’t like hearing of the brutality, the harsh truth. That’s just too bad. The Capitol has their games, we don’t like to play. Victors don’t hide the truth, only the pain. Once you know what it’s like to be a murderer, that’s the only time you can talk about killing with any sincerity.

* * *

Storm’s POV 

We’re fast approaching the Capitol station. It only takes a matter of hours from District 1, whereas from places such as District 12, I’ve heard it can take days. I press my hand against the cold glass, glad that I’m going to be home, not in some lonely little place where everyone despises me and pretends they can’t get my name right. It’s late in the afternoon already, but it’s been a long day catching trains and I can’t help but feel weary.

A door hisses close and I whirl around. I don’t get along with the four people I am going to be stuck with until the end of the 74th Hunger Games. Cashmere is alright, perhaps the only one who is actually polite to me, even if her civilities are forced. The tribute girl, Glimmer I think her name is, just flounces around and looks down her nose at me. Marvel ignores me completely, as if I don’t exist. The worst is definitely Gloss and how hostile he is towards me, which is why my heart sinks when I realize that it’s him.

“What’s the matter?” He smirks when he notes my discomfort. “Do I frighten you?”

It would be a lie to say no. He speaks about death so casually, and now I think about it, I do remember some of his Games. I would have been around fourteen at the time, and I think I can still remember some of the more gruesome parts. I lick my lips and try and stand straight, although my legs are tired and the heels are making my feet wobble.

“Everyone gets frightened sometimes. You were frightened when you watched your district partner die.”

It was the wrong thing to say, I know this even as the words leave my mouth, but it’s too late to take it back. My weariness means that my diplomacy is wearing very thin indeed, and I watch as Gloss’s blue eyes flare with rage. He snarls like a furious animal, grabbing me by the shoulders and slamming me into the wall. He’s stronger, although I expected that. My head bounces against the steel, making me wince in pain.

“Don’t you _ever_ mention her,” he hisses at me. His fingers dig painfully into my arms and I bite down on my lip to restrain a cry. I regret my words and I wish I could take them back. Before I was frustrated by Gloss’s clear hatred, but now I have just made myself deserve every bit of it. “You don’t _know._ You don’t know _anything._ ”

Gloss draws back just as quickly as he grabbed me. My feet give way and I slide down to the floor. He stares down at me, his jaw clenched and pure loathing glittering in his blue eyes. He thinks I’m pathetic, I can see it in his face. His lip curls in disgust, but before either of us can say anything, the door opens again and it’s Cashmere.

She glances at Gloss, his face contorted with unspeakable rage, and then at me, curled on the ground like a scared child. She must think me pathetic as well, but she heaves a sigh and walks over, taking my wrist and tugging me to my feet with more strength than I knew she possessed. I quickly go about taking off my heels, bringing me back to my true five foot five, a stark contrast to Gloss’s six foot two.

Cashmere turns on her brother. “What were you thinking?”

“She brought up Honey,” Gloss spits, clenching his hands into fists.

“Are you completely stupid?!” Cashmere sounds angry, but I hardly think it’s got to do with the fact that Gloss was violent with me, but rather how that will reflect. “She’s our escort, Gloss. You can’t just throw her around like she’s some sort of ragdoll.”

He turns his hate-filled eyes on me, before glancing back at his sister. “I don’t care who she is.”

Cashmere turns to face me. I’m just standing across the room from them, gnawing at my lip despite the fact that I’ll get lipstick on my teeth. I’m gripping my heels in my hand like my life depends on it, like I could really defend myself with my three-inch stilettos. There’s an almost sympathetic expression on her face, and even I can’t tell whether it’s genuine or faked.

“Storm, could you please give us a few minutes?”

I nod mutely and walk out into the corridor, letting the door close behind me. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m actually shaking. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I never want to be the victim of Gloss’s rage again. That was truly terrifying.

It’s more like fifteen minutes rather than just a few. By the time Gloss and Cashmere are finished with what I assume was a quiet argument, the train is slowing down as we reach the platform. I reluctantly put my heels back on, silently reassuring myself that it’s just another half hour before we’re in the Training Centre.

Gloss stalks past me, but by the time he’s on the platform he’s distinctly more relaxed. I’m hoping that he’ll act like Marvel and perhaps ignore me when we reach the Training Centre. Anything’s better than having to having to deal with his volatile temper. I take my mind off him and instead watch Glimmer and Marvel. Both of them definitely aren’t crowd shy, waving to those who are cheering for them on the platform. I would think them courageous, until I remember that they don’t know what’s coming. They’ve seen it before, but they have yet to live it...and so do I.


	3. Nightmare We've Created

**Warnings:** **none**

Gloss’s POV

I twirl the empty wine glass idly in my hand. By now, the Marvel and Glimmer are being all beautified in preparation for the chariots. Not that it would take much – both of them are good-looking kids. It might help them gain sponsors, but I don’t think it will make much of a difference if another tribute charges at them with a weapon. Finnick Odair is one example of a tribute that gained immense sponsor support – and managed to win.

Cashmere kept raising her wine glass to her lips, but the glass wasn’t emptying at all. Maybe it’s because the deep red liquid reminds her of blood. I immediately shake off the stupid notion. My sister isn’t that childish. I think the truth is that she’s worried. Not for the tributes now – this is probably the best part before the Games in the mind of the tribute, a chance to show off. She fears what is to come in this year’s Games, as I think all Victors do. None of us want to see our tributes die, but at the same time, we don’t want them to become monsters like us.

Storm stands by the window. She’s already finished two glasses of wine. The thin straps of her deep blue dress leave her arms exposed, so I can see the purple bruises beginning to form where I dug my fingers into her biceps. I feel a tiny sting of guilt, before I push it away. Storm brought it upon herself. She brought up Honey, and she must have known that it would hurt. All the Capitolians know how to do is hurt.

Outside, the colourful Capitol is alive with noise as yet another district pulls into the station. They don’t care about the deaths. Why should they? It’s not their kids that get their names pulled out. So they celebrate because their favourite live television event is going to be back on. God, I wish I could knock some sense into those air-filled heads of theirs. Someone needs to give them a good reality check.

“Gloss?”

Speaking of reality checks, it’s not until Cashmere says my name that I realise I’m holding my wine glass so tightly that in a minute it’ll begin to crack. Storm glances across and I see the fear in her eyes. She’s afraid of me losing my temper. Good, she should be. She has every right to be afraid.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

Cashmere sighs heavily and gets to her feet. She’d always had an elegance, my sister. She had been the beauty of her Games, the pretty face that none had thought would have the capability to become a Victor. Storm glances over at her and I know that it’s time. The tributes will be down at the chariots by now and it’s our job to go down and wish them well, to wave to the people who all too soon will be cheering for their deaths. It’s not exactly an appealing prospect.

We head down to the Training Centre, with Storm trailing along behind as though she has no idea what to do. That annoys me for some reason. Most of the other escorts have been blathering on non-stop about what’s in store for the Games, what the Capitol thinks of everything. Storm remains silent though. I don’t like the silence. It means I never know what she’s thinking. She catches my hard stare and immediately takes to looking at the ground. I imagine how easy it would be to crush someone as weak as Storm in the Hunger Games.

“Don’t we look great,” Glimmer babbles, sauntering over to Cashmere and I and twirling in her costume. It’s a thing of sequins and feathers that’s supposed to represent the occupation of our district, but to me she just looks like a silly little girl playing dress-up. Marvel follows in a more solemn state. Perhaps it’s something to do with having to wear the colour pink.

I glance around at the other tributes. The boy from District 2 – his name begins with a C if I remember correctly – glares sullenly around at the rest of them, for some reason lingering on the pair from District 12...and what a non-descript pair they are. Both are dressed in black, a brunette girl and a blond boy. When I turn my attention back on our tributes, Cashmere is already in the middle of giving the two teenagers a firm talking to. Storm shifts her feet awkwardly and I frown.

“Why are you even an escort?” I demand brusquely of her, causing her head to snap up. “It’s not like you’re doing much to help. Do you even the schedule? When Glimmer and Marvel return, they’re going to want to know what to expect.”

Some part of me wishes that she would argue back, all the better a reason for me to be angry at her. Instead Storm reaches into her pocket and withdraws a small mobile device. She taps a few things and hesitantly draws closer, showing me something with small writing. I’m too uninterested to bother reading.

“I have the schedule,” she replies simply, before she stows the device. She is clearly trying hard not to anger me. “The chariots are not my arena, though.”

“Not your arena.” I snort in disdain. “You’re hilarious.”

Storm blinks, and I realise that instead of what I thought had been an intended pun, it had been an innocent mistake. Honestly, what was this naive little girl even doing here? She looked delicate, like porcelain, like the slightest thing could shatter her. I sigh heavily and turn my back on her. She’s not even worth it me thinking about her.

* * *

Dinner is fraught with tension. Glimmer is looking sour as she slices her carrots into neat rectangles. Marvel is scowling. I throw Cashmere a glance across the table, and see only resignation in her eyes. We both know why our tributes are acting like this. District 12’s costumes burst into flames during the chariots, completely upstaging everyone else. Glimmer and Marvel were completely unimpressed. Glimmer had stomped her feet and clenched her small hands into fists, although she had desisted when she came to her senses and realised there was nothing anyone could do about it.

“Tomorrow you begin training.”

My head jerked up in actual surprise that Storm had spoken. She was studying the two tributes carefully, both of whom still bore sullen expressions. Despite the negativity she was met with, she trundled on.

“You’d be best to learn some survival skills as well as how to use weapons...”

“Hang on,” I interrupted, giving her a hard look, “You’re the escort. You’re not supposed to be telling them what stations they’re going to go to. You just tell the schedule and that’s it, got it?”

For a moment, just a brief moment, Storm’s eyes flare and I want her to challenge me, to argue. It’s been so long since anyone actually stood up against me, but true to her spineless nature, she nodded mutely and backed down. She picks at her potatoes, smothered in gravy, and I’m left disgusted at her weakness once more.

* * *

Storm’s POV 

“AN ELEVEN?” Gloss throws another wine glass. It shatters into thousands of tiny glass fragments and I can’t help but flinch. “HOW THE HELL DID A GIRL FROM DISTRICT 12 MANAGE TO SCORE THAT HIGH?”

Cashmere watches him, her face a stoic mask. I am only glad that Glimmer and Marvel aren’t here to see this latest outburst. Gloss whirls on us, panting heavily. He’s a madman. I knew that before, but I had never seen him lose his temper like he just did. I’m shaking in my seat, because I’m afraid. Shouldn’t I be? This man has no bounds. His anger is limitless.

“We don’t know, Gloss.” Cashmere speaks calmly. I hope that she can manage to make him put a lid on his temper. Someone has to talk sense to him and it seems that only his sister can take up that role. She makes to reach out to him, but Gloss just angrily kicks the shards of glass that he’s left in a transparent jigsaw across the carpet, before stomping out. I glance at Cashmere, biting my lip, but she shakes her head.

“Sometimes it’s just best to leave him,” Cashmere says, sighing heavily. She rakes a hand through her long blonde hair and I pity her. She leans down and starts scooping up the glass shards, and I rush to help. This is obviously not new to her. Gloss destroys everything around him and it’s always up to Cashmere to pick up the pieces.

“Is he often like that?” I inquire, and then scold myself for sounding like a curious child. Cashmere probably doesn’t want to talk about Gloss right now. She would want to forget his outburst, but I keep mucking things up.

“He gets angry,” Cashmere admits, picking up the glass shards and walking over to dump them in the bin. “But not usually that angry.”

Everything she does is elegant, flawless. It’s no wonder she became a Victor, with such natural beauty and grace. Not to mention that she is intelligent. But then I see the pain in Cashmere’s blue eyes, and I realise that while not crazy on a Gloss level, everyone has their scars and faults. Just because they aren’t apparent on the surface doesn’t mean that they aren’t there.

“It must be hard,” I murmur softly.

Cashmere nods, swallowing a lump in her throat. “It is. The Games...they took my baby brother away from me. He never came back. The Gloss you see now is just a shadow of who he once was. I would give anything, even my own life, to take that back. To have him as he was before.”

I’m struck by her selflessness, and her decision to relate something so deep and painful to me. Gloss hates me, views me as yet another Capitolian that he must condemn, but Cashmere is more accepting. At first it was just pure tactfulness, but now I’m starting to think that she wants to open up. She wants to have a friend and she’s looking to me to be that person. I bite my lip and touch her arm, but she brushes my hand off.

“Is there a way for him to stop hating?” I ask almost desperately. “I want to prove to him that I’m capable of understanding if he’ll let me, but...”

Cashmere is shaking her head. “Gloss doesn’t trust easily, Storm. He’s paranoid and he’s out of control. I’m probably the only person now who understands the burden he bears. The only one who can even try to calm him down. If you want him to trust you, you have to at first keep your distance.”

I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve always been a curious person and the more I see of Gloss, the more I should want to run away – but I don’t. I want to find out more. I want to see why he’s like this, I want to see the raw hatred and anger, even if it’s directed at me. It only makes me realise how heartbreakingly human these Victors are, how much pain they have been through...and whose fault it is.

I push myself to my feet and walk down the corridor. My honest intention is to go to bed...until I hear the sound of running water and see that Gloss’s door is ajar. My curiosity gets the better of me and I peer in. Gloss is leaning over the sink, his hands fisted in his blond hair. There’s blood in the sink and I note with only a slight heat in my cheeks that he’s taken his shirt off. I go to take a step back, but it’s already too late. Gloss has seen me.

“You.” He scowls across at me. “What do you want?”

I tentatively step through the doorway. “You’re bleeding.”

“You think?” Gloss retaliates sarcastically. Even in the dim light of his private bathroom, I can see that he’s still well-built. My eyes rake over his toned chest and I can’t help but flush like a silly little girl. His lip curls in contempt when he sees this. “Checking me out, are you?”

“No,” I lie. I have no interest in Gloss in that manner at all, but I am not going to deny that he is a good-looking man. I glance down at his hands, which have lots of wicked cuts, many of them still bleeding. “You should have them checked in case there’s still glass in them.”

“I don’t care,” Gloss snaps, his blue eyes cold, “Get out of my room.”


	4. Deep Shadows

**Warnings: physical assault, alcoholism**

Gloss’s POV

It’s the night before the Games, so of course I’ve been drinking heavily. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some complete alcoholic like Haymitch from District 12, but I suppose everyone wants to shut out the pain in some way or another. I experiment. I’ve tried drugs, women, cutting, booze. None of it seems to work for me. I’m left with this hollow feeling inside me, like there’s a void I need to fill. It’s either being shocked to the core by what’s to come, or being numb. It looks like those are my two options.

If you asked me what I was drinking, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. It’s the Capitol’s finest wine no doubt, but it tastes bitter on my tongue. Nonetheless, I have more, and more, like it can fill the hole the Games have created inside me. Someone touches my arm and I whirl immediately, before relaxing as Cashmere silently sits beside me. She’s been focused on getting Glimmer and Marvel through the interviews, and I feel a surge of guilt.

I’m acting as though I’m the broken one, damaged beyond repair, but that’s not my role to play. The Games might have destroyed me, but at least it stopped there. For Cashmere, things only continued. A letter that smelled like roses. Long nights with strange men. A shame and a hurt that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. It’s only when I remember Cashmere’s pain, a pain she still suffered, that I force myself out of my shell. For her sake. I sling an arm around her shoulder and she leans her head on my shoulder, a soft breath escaping her.

“The Games are tomorrow.” It’s something that we both know, but in Cashmere’s normally confident voice I can hear a hitch. There’s more. “I have to go out tonight.”

I tense, my hands balling into fists of rage. It hurts me as well, knowing what the Capitol subjects my sister too. It hurts that I can’t say the right words to stop her crying into the dawn, that I can’t _understand._ I’ve always felt that it was my role to be the protective role, but in truth, she’s playing her role as the big sister and protecting me. It’s something that makes me mad, to know the sacrifices she makes for our tributes.

“Don’t go,” I tell her firmly.

Cashmere sighs. “Glimmer and Marvel need sponsors, Gloss.”

I know that. I know my words fall on deaf ears, but it’s always worth a try. I dream that one day she’ll ruffle my hair and agree, but in my heart, I know it’ll never happen. It’s been a long since we’ve been the playful brother and sister. I did this to us. I volunteered and caused her this pain, the pain that soon became my own. There’s no point trying to deny the blame. What’s the point in pretending anything?

“Please don’t go.”

Cashmere turns her face. She doesn’t like it when I plead with her. I swill the wine in my glass and tilt back my head, swallowing the rest of it. It’s dry and sour down my throat, a burning liquid fire. I want to cry at what my sister endures. It seems she’s destined to be the stronger one while I’m the shadow, the unbalanced one. I don’t even know if I have the strength to cry. Fuck, I’m a wreck.

“Glimmer and Marvel did really well in their interviews.” She deliberately changes the subject, and I don’t change it back. I don’t want to make this harder than it already is.

“District 12 did better,” I mutter, but I’m not angry. I remember how the girl spun and her dress lit on fire, how the sappy boy declared his love for her. Love? He doesn’t know the meaning of the word. I don’t know the meaning of the word. What is love, really? How do you know when you’re in it, when you’re out of it, when your heart breaks when the rest of you is already shattered?

I only realise the tears are streaming down my cheeks when Cashmere leans across to wipe them away, hugging me close. I stiffen, but don’t pull away. How did I not feel that I was crying? I laugh then, out loud, because I’m insane. I know it, we’ve both always known it. It’s just when the Games swing around that it becomes more obvious. Cashmere draws back and grips me by the shoulders, shaking me a little.

“Focus, Gloss. No more booze.”

I smile wryly, but it freezes on my face as I see _her_ standing in the doorway, awkward, knowing that she doesn’t belong. She has seen everything. My tears, my weakness. Cashmere turns and notices her as well. Her face registers surprise.

“Storm.”

“Sorry,” she stammers, taking a step back. It’s already too late. I am supposed to appear strong, and she’s seen through the walls to what’s hiding behind them, cowering, too frightened to come out. No one apart from Cashmere is allowed to see past my barriers. I push myself to my feet, snatching my hand away when Cashmere takes it in an attempt to stop me.

“Why are you watching us, Storm?” I demand, stalking over to her. I expect her to turn and run. She stands there and lifts her chin, meeting my eyes. I wasn’t anticipating that, but I don’t see courage in her. I just see her as an obstacle, as prying eyes into something that isn’t for a Capitol girl to see. “Do you get a kick out of seeing it, huh? This is how low some Victors have fallen. Does it surprise you, that your Capitol is capable of causing this?”

Storm opens her mouth to speak, but I’m done listening. I know Capitolians. Their words are softly spoken, gilded lies. I want her to scream at me, slap me, give me something real. Anything is better than the falsehood that has become my life. Before she can so much as utter a word, I grab her by the throat and lift her off her feet, slamming her against the wall.

A cry of shock escapes Cashmere. Storm chokes, prying at my fingers desperately. Her feet kick at thin air. I can see it in her eyes – she’s afraid of me. She always has been. I thought it was good and I still do. But there’s also a hurt there, almost like she has been betrayed. Storm has no right to such a hurt, but it still stings to see it. She tries to say something, but instead just chokes some more. Tears well in her hazel eyes and a whimper escapes her.

“Let her go, Gloss!” Cashmere’s voice rings with alarm and she’s gripping my shoulder, digging her nails in. She’s not trying to cause me the pain I’m causing Storm, but rather make me see exactly what it is that I’m doing. After a moment I release the Capitol girl and she slumps to the ground, coughing. I watch her impassively.

“You’re a monster,” she spits hoarsely as she gets to her feet, and I think it’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from Storm Asterbury. I am so sick of mild curiosity and feigned contentment with the world around her. I wanted to see what she was really made of, and I guess I had my answer. She is steel and I’m the hot fire that forges it.

“I know,” I reply calmly, because she is only telling me what is already embedded within me: the knowledge that the Games have changed me irrevocably, and there’s no going back.

* * *

Storm’s POV

I want to hate him. I should hate him. But I don’t have the right or even the resolve. Since District 1, I have feared the powerful man that I saw Gloss as...but things changed last night. When he grabbed me by the neck and lifted me off my feet, I saw the broken boy that he truly is. So now I don’t hate him, and I’m not afraid. I pity him, and that’s even more dangerous, because I know he would despise my pity.

I sit alone in my room. Escorts aren’t required to watch the Games commence like the Victors are. Most of them do, crowding around the screens with excitement on their faces. But I have always abhorred the violent and gory bloodbaths, unable to watch without turning my face. This year is no different and I know that if Gloss saw me watching, I would see the loathing in his eyes that burned into me. Why did he hate me so much? It wasn’t my fault that I was born a Capitolian. I hadn’t asked to avoid the Hunger Games.

Dammit. I push myself to my feet and wander down the corridor to the lift. There are a few floors beneath ours – such as the training centre and the observation room. I press the big O button that designates the observation room, and step into the interior of the lift. I pause a little when I realise that I am not alone. There’s a man there, perhaps in his early forties, and I recognise him immediately.

Haymitch Abernathy.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he mocks me. “You look like you’ve see a ghost.”

He laughs as if it’s some kind of private joke, swigging back his beer. I don’t even know where he managed to get that from. I press the buttons to close the lift doors and then we’re heading down towards the observation room.

“You’re late,” I point out, “Victors were supposed to be in the observation room twenty minutes ago. The Games will be starting soon.”

“Mmm.” Haymitch looks distant and I think back to see if I can recall his Games. Obviously not – they would have been before my time, but I remember a repeat. The 50th Hunger Games, with twice the amount of tributes. Haymitch used the force field around the arena to his advantage, and because of this his mother, younger brother and girlfriend were all killed. He had shown the Capitol up, after all.

“Your tributes seem to be doing well this year,” I remark, trying to make polite conversation. In truth, I’m also curious. There are many whispers about this ‘Girl on Fire’ from District 12, her score of eleven in training. Her district partner is of interest too, but not quite so much as her.

Haymitch seems relieved when we arrive at the observation level a mere few moments later, and I hardly blame him. We step out and make our way towards the room in a sort of awkward silence. Haymitch steps back and waits for me to swipe my pass, then I open the door and we enter the room. It’s a mass of brightly-lit television screens, people swarming all about the place. I recognise Gloss by his golden blond hair, but I deliberately avoid him.

“Storm.” Cashmere walks over, and although her tone is casual, her demeanour is different. She seems almost self-conscious, and her eyes are more flat, lifeless. I know what the Capitol makes her do and it disgusts me. I’m guessing that she was sold out like some kind of animal last night, to a man who simply wanted a night with a Victor. I’ll never understand their reasoning. I notice the bruises in the shape of fingers around her wrists, but I say nothing about it.

“Have I missed the start?” I ask. Perhaps she thinks I’m eager, but in reality, I’m hoping that the bloodbath is already over. Cashmere shakes her head and leads me over to the screens, where the tributes are waiting on their metal plates for the countdown to be over. There’s a nervous fluttering in my stomach. It’s just on television, it’s nothing that can hurt me...but no matter how much I remind myself this, I can’t help but look out for Glimmer and Marvel. It’s different once you _know_ the tributes.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the 74th Hunger Games begin!” Claudius Templesmith’s voice seems to emanate from all around us. Several Capitolians clink glasses in some kind of toast, their voices rising in excitement, but I remain silent. I can see the hard set of Cashmere’s face, the contempt in Gloss’s eyes.

I watch with fascinated horror as the gong sounds and the tributes scurry for the Cornucopia – well, those brave enough. The rest make their way towards the nearby woods, but I’m transfixed on the sight of the District 1 tributes. I know that as with most years, they will form a Career alliance with Districts 2 and 4 – but right now, all I can see is Marvel picking up a sword and cutting down the girl from District 3. Blood stains her shirt, spreading like a poisonous red weed. Nearby, Glimmer slashes open the throat of the boy from District 6.

The bloodbath continues and I watch in a sense of detachment. So many tributes are already dead...yet Glimmer and Marvel are still alive by the end of it. They join with the muscular blond boy and the dark-haired girl from District 2, and another girl I can only assume is from District 4. The five of them pick through the Cornucopia, taking what they want and leaving everything else behind. Once they start trekking away, I swallow hard and turn and walk from the room as silently as I can.


	5. The Wolves

Gloss’s POV

It feels a lot quieter sitting down to dinner without Glimmer and Marvel. Admittedly, our tributes are doing well in the arena after having joined with the other Careers, and I have high hopes for them. However, my good mood is spoiled by the fact that we are not alone at dinner – and I’m not talking about Storm. A high-ranking Capitolian by the name of Cicero Belgiam has accompanied us, and I’m struggling to retain my temper. He keeps shooting meaningful glances at Cashmere, who keeps her focus on her food. I feel like throwing mine up. There’s got to be some other way to get sponsors.

Storm is picking at her food without actually eating anything. Poor precious Capitolian girl can’t seem to handle the pressure of the Games. I shovel down my own food, fisting my hand around my wine glass as Cashmere gets gracefully to her feet. She turns to glance at Belgiam, and I can see the dread in her eyes, the apprehension of what’s to come.

“Shall we go and talk business, Cicero?”

Belgiam is all too eager to leave the table and I can feel the bile rising in my throat. Storm keeps her eyes down, stirring her broccoli idly through the sauce without the slightest intention of eating it. The door clicks shut and the footsteps recede, and then I’m left with her. There are purple bruises around her neck in the shape of fingers and although I don’t want to, I know the right thing to do is apologise.

“Storm.” She looks up at her name, a surprised look crossing her face. “I...I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

The words are lies. They are without any true meaning. What’s to say I don’t lose my temper and strike her again? It feels so good to take my anger out on someone who won’t fight, who won’t hit back...but that’s just the problem. I’m taking my frustration at the Capitol out on someone who – despite my dislike for her – is undeserving of such violence. She nods slowly, looking a bit uncertain and it stings a little to know that she thinks of me as just some violent brute. She doesn’t expect that I regret my actions.

I push myself to my feet. “I’m going to bed.”

“Stay.” The word shocks me into freezing, because I never expected it from my victim. She glances up at me with curious hazel eyes and I see that I’m not a monster to her – I’m an enigma. A puzzle she wants to put together. I guess no one told her that I have a few pieces missing. “Will...will you tell me about your Games?”

It’s a strange request, especially from her. Most people want to shy away from the blood and death that occurred, myself included. Storm doesn’t handle these current Games very well, but I sigh heavily and rake a hand through my hair. If I go to bed, I’m just going to end up worrying about Cashmere. Maybe it’s best that I do something to distract myself.

“I was sixteen years old...”

* * *

By the time Cashmere returns, Storm is curled on the couch, asleep. She looks like such a child and in many ways, she is. She has never been exposed to the bleak reality of the districts. She’s lived a privileged life in the Capitol and it’s all she’s ever known. But none of that gives her any right to pity, the deep sadness that I saw in her eyes when I told her my story.

“You two getting along now?” A smile quirks Cashmere’s lips, but her eyes are dead. I smile wryly, for her sake.

“Well, I’m not attacking her.”

She laughs mirthlessly. “That’s a start.”

“So.” It’s a question I have to ask, no matter how much I hate to. I rake a hand through my hair and heave a sigh. “What have we got for Glimmer and Marvel?”

Cashmere glances across at Storm. Maybe she wishes she could be that innocent, because I do. Growing up in the Capitol, the Games would seem like just another reality television series. Coming from District 1, we know the truth. We feel the pain, just like the rest of the Victors. The tributes from the districts idolise us, but they don’t know what we do. How can they?

“Are you going to take her to bed?” she asks.

For a moment, contempt flashes through me. I’m not carrying some spoilt Capitol girl to her bed. Don’t we do enough for them? I move across and grab Storm by the shoulder, shaking her roughly. She jerks awake, drawing back. I roll my eyes. Why is she afraid? She has no right to fear. She doesn’t even know what true fear is. I push myself to my feet.

“You were asleep. You’d better get to bed.”

Storm nods and rakes back her hair, clambering to her feet. She glances at Cashmere, whose expression remains impassive. She knows that she’s a sheep amongst wolves. Storm swallows and makes to say something, but then turns on her heel and walks down the corridor to her room. It’s better that way. Cold silence is better than having to pour everything you’re thinking out in words.

* * *

_The boy from District 2 is big. At sixteen I’m already over six feet tall, but he’s closer to seven. Julius, I think that’s his name. His weapon is a broadsword that most other tributes couldn’t lift. It’s me, it’s him, it’s District 6. But I won’t kill District 6, not yet. I want to save that until last, so that she knows how close she came to winning and how hard the fall is from second place._

_Julius circles me. He’s like a great big bear, growling, waiting for the chance to strike. But the bear is slow and bumbling. The bear has strength, but not speed. I am the wolf, the fast ferocity. So when that sword swings towards me, I nimbly duck away, whirling my spear so the point is level with his neck. Julius lunges again, but I kick him in the shin and dance back once more._

_He’s growing agitated. I can tell by the angry glint in his eyes that he didn’t think I would be this much of a challenge. I feint left and duck right, spinning so that my spear bites through his neck like an axe through a tree trunk. Blood sprays out like a fountain, spattering across my face. The cannon goes off as Julius’s head hits the ground._

_I stand still for a moment, before I lean down and seize Julius’s hair by the roots. I stand and hold his head up high, my face smeared with blood and my teeth bared in exertion, for all of Panem to see. I can almost hear them cheering, for my victory, for the savage that I’ve become._

I wake up screaming.

* * *

Storm’s POV

I lie awake listening to him suffering the ghosts of the past. I know that Cashmere is tormented as well, and so I know it’s up to me to do something. I push myself out of bed, forsaking the warm blankets, and stumble down the hall until I reach Gloss’s room. He’s thrashing in his sheets as I watch in fascinated horror. Even in his sleep, he’s violent. I step into the room and he lurches upwards, shouting out. I flinch, before I notice that he’s actually awake now.

“You again.” His voice is hoarse from his yelling and he glares across at me, but I notice there’s no true malice there. He’s just embarrassed that I’ve seen him in such a state. I hesitantly wander over and sit on the edge of his bed. Now that he’s told me about his Games, I feel like I understand a little more. “What are you doing in my room?”

“You were having a nightmare.” I bite my lip and dare to press further. “What was it about?”

Gloss rakes his hands through sweat-slick hair and for a moment I think he’s going to tell me to leave. But I’ve come to realise that he’s the sort of person who needs someone to confide in, and when he doesn’t...well the violence speaks for itself. It’s normally Cashmere, but she’s indisposed. He might as well rely on me.

“Do you remember how I killed the boy from District 2?”

I think back and wince at the recollection. Gloss cut off his head and held it up for the world to see. I had been shocked, forcing back my disgust. Even now, I didn’t understand why he’d done it, as if the boy’s head had been some kind of trophy. I nod and watch him, watch the ghosts flickering behind blue eyes.

“I regret it.” The words are almost choked out. “I regret everything. We all became monsters. That’s all Careers are seen as these days. We were taught to fight, but they never taught us how to _survive._ That’s even harder.”

I listen in silence as Gloss divulges his humanity. Despite his cold demeanour, I’ve always known that there was more to him, more than just the wild animal he struggled to contain. It’s almost a softness, but I wouldn’t dare tell him that. Instead I just listen patiently, watching as he buries his face in his hands and emits raw sobs. I tentatively place a hand on his arm, but he shrugs me off. He doesn’t trust me _that_ much.

“Go.” The word comes out harsh and I get to my feet, glancing down at him – and more and more, I see the broken boy struggling to be a man. “Don’t tell anyone about this. Not even Cashmere.”

* * *

By Day 4 of the Games, most of the Career tributes are still alive, with the exception of the boy from District 4. This is surprising because usually all of the Careers survive the bloodbath. Cashmere is very confident about Glimmer and Marvel, but Gloss seems to grow increasingly more solemn. Not in public, of course. In public he’s the same arrogant young man that I always believed him to be. But at night when we go back to our floor, he voices his doubts.

The Careers have made camp underneath a tree where the girl from District 12 is hiding. I don’t see why they don’t give up the chase. She’s a stubborn thing, so they’d be better off to go after another tribute. But I’m just an escort, a Capitolian. I don’t officially know enough about Games tactics to voice that. So instead I let Cashmere organise the sponsors, and Gloss sink into his pit of worry.

I wander out in the middle of the night to find Gloss watching the Games. I linger and watch as the girl from District 12 starts cutting at something in the tree, before I gather up my courage and venture over. I sit beside Gloss, but not too close. Neither of us is comfortable with contact.

“What’s she doing?” I inquire.

“It’s a tracker jacker nest.” Gloss’s voice is tight, and I realise why. If that nest falls, it will only take a few stings for the District 1 tributes to die. It would be almost laughable, the mighty Careers defeated by the tiniest of enemies. I don’t say that though, because I don’t know what sends Gloss spiralling into his rages, and I don’t want to inadvertently trigger it. I clasp my hands together, silently hoping that the tributes have the sense to wake up.

I don’t know how long we sit there in horrified quiet, but dawn is starting to break by the time the tracker jacker nest plummets to the ground among the Careers. Glimmer jerks up, screaming piercingly, and the rest scramble to their feet as well. Gloss rises and starts pacing back and forth like a trapped animal with no way out. I’m too fixated on the screen. The District 4 hits the ground, her body jerking and convulsing, before her cannon goes off. Marvel has sprinted off along with the others, but Glimmer has fallen behind.

She was always so pretty. I remember at the interview how she had shone. But when Glimmer claws at her face, which is puffing up with stings, I see that she’s not pretty anymore. She screams again, desperately, but I know it’s over for her even before she crumples and her cannon goes off. I watch in shock as if there’s some chance of her getting up, even though I know she’s down for good.

Gloss roars in rage, kicking down a lamp. He’s breathing heavily as he watches the screen, which shows that the other Careers have made it to the river. I sit in complete silence as a few more inanimate objects are smashed. Gloss whirls on me and I bite my lip, expecting him to attack. Instead he slams his fist into the wall and stalks out.


End file.
